Magic Works
by biggrstaffbunch
Summary: A boy and a girl and a dance. Full circle. [postseries] [RHr romance]


_---_

_"This one's going out to all the lovers out there  
Hold each other tight and keep each other warm..."_

It all comes full circle in the end.

The faerie lights dance all around Hermione Granger as she walks into the party that evening, and Ron Weasley knows that he will never live to see anything lovelier in his life.

Her dress, a simple blue thing that does something wonderful to his gut, hitches around her knees and dips down her shoulders to reveal sharp lines and elegant slopes as her velvet cloak swirls around her ankles. Her scent, vanilla and books, floats lazily after her as she maneuvers through the crowd, heels clicking in statacco rhythym with his heart . And her eyes, glowing and bright, smile fiercely at him in a way that forces him to stay still, that hold his legs faster than any Leg-Locking Curse ever could. A glittery, plastic masque frames those melting brown eyes and even though it isn't much of a costume, she is easily the biggest mystery there tonight. She is a beautiful, breathing work of ethereal art, and if she touches him right now, with all those twinkling lights glittering against her skin and that mad confection of hair wild around her pink face, he knows he will do something to shatter the heaven they've built for themselves in this moment. The husky voice of Kirley McCormack seduces the crowd, his words lingering and flickering at the shadows in Ron's brain. McCormack's kohl-blackened gaze seems to scan the dance floor and as he begins the last song of the night, it seems that his unusual eyes are seeing straight through Ron's heart.

_"And dance..."_

Ron would run if he were able to, preserve that perfect moment when Hermione's smile was brighter than the sun, but as always when it involves this incredible woman, he makes the stupidest move imaginable instead.

"Fancy a turn on the floor?"

Ron's voice is no louder than a whisper, but the smile in Hermione's eyes widens as she reaches out her hand wordlessly. Her lips curve into a small, private echo of the joy reflected in her gaze, and Ron cannot help but tentatively offer a grin back. Their fingers entwine and the motion of the crowd pushes them closer, so that their clasped hands are pressed between them. The crowd surges and Hermione is even nearer, her other hand reaching up to rest on the heated nape of Ron's neck. He wears no costume, although he supposes with his pale skin and watery eyes, he could pass for a ghost. A phantom of yesterdays.

_"Your final dance..."_

"Reckon it'll be a bit of work to get to the dance floor," Ron says helplessly, one hand tightly wound with Hermione's, the other skimming the soft curls of her hair. A faerie light perched on her head glows menacingly before sparkling out. Ron lets his hand drift to the rounded curve of her hip, his ears and cheeks burning. He can feel the softness, the warmth of her skin underneath her dress. She feels so alive beneath his hands.

_"This is your final chance.."_

"Right here will do quite fine." Hermione's voice holds promises of the future, and Ron can hardly believe it when she presses closer still. The war is over and people are happy all around them and second _chances_. There are second chances floating in the air like bubbles, balancing precariously on the edge of something delicate and destructive. Ron could cradle with his large, capable hands the offerings that spill from those rosebud lips of Hermione's, he could keep them safe from rough and tumble, from death and dark. As the faerie lights shine and the instruments swell and laughters rings out, he cradles Hermione instead.

_"To hold the one you love..."_

The music plays on and their legs begin to move. Hermione guides him, resting her cheek against his chest, the sweet smell of parchment and sensuous something or other tickling his nose. Their hands remain snug between their chests, the rapid beat of Ron's heart drumming against their joined fists. There are feelings rising from somewhere deep within him, a section of himself he has kept roped off for these last months, so scared of losing that little piece of who he is, of who he wants to be. His dreams are in his eyes tonight, emotions brimming to the surface, and as he holds the girl he loves, Ron feels as if he's walking on the crisp autumn air.

_"So believe that magic works,"_

And perhaps he is, perhaps they both are, for faerie lights are twinkling at their feet and raising them up over the dance floor, hovering and supporting the leisurely spinning couple. There are people watching, shining faces full of wonder and awe. Ron sees a rainbow of colors wind its way through the costumed crowd, happiness expanding and enveloping loved ones below. Hermione mutters his name and clutches onto his shirt, raising her shining eyes to his in wonder. Everything here is shadows and illusions, pumpkins and spice. What will happen when the winter comes? Will these feelings fade?

_"Dont be afraid of being hurt-  
Don't let this magic pass, the answer's there...  
Oh, just look in her eyes,"_

"It's okay," Ron says bemusedly. "I'll keep us safe." And so they twirl, slow revolutions in the air, their joined hands the anchor keeping them together. There is silence between them more glorious than any words have ever been. The fact that Hermione has not laughed or turned away from him yet, that she is still wrapped in that cocoon of light and beauty, is something to marvel at. He will keep them safe from reality as long as he can, up here among the rafters of his childhood home, amid the discarded dreams of youth and a few drifts of golden leaves. Hermione's lips flutter against the pulse-point of his neck, and Ron realizes with a start that this is the closest he has ever been to her mouth.

_"And make your final move,"_

Through the hugs, through the fights, through the tears and the battle they fought shoulder to shoulder, they have never once shared the simplest of kisses. And now, on a night meant to celebrate a renewal of long-lost hopes and the fulfillment of secret wishes, Ron would like nothing more than to cup those rosy cheeks and brush his lips with hers, to breathe some of his love into her. Every game they have ever played would end with that strategy, one way or another, he supposes. He'd just like to end out the victor, with his Queen at his side. But did she, so regal and refined, want him as her King?

So instead of saying 'I love you,' Ron tells her he likes the color of her dress.

_"Mmmm, dont be scared she wants you to,"_

Hermione lowers her lashes shyly, saying in quiet tones back that the color matches his eyes. Stepping slightly away, she glances downward and giggles in delight at the way gold sparks rise from her foot as she glides on air. The others have lost interest because who there hasn't seen magic even greater than simple levitation? But Ron knows that Hermione knows better, that they both know it is pure magic- _love_ magic- keeping them aloft. Love magic like this could never be one-sided, and Ron's fears alleviate a little as Hermione refuses to let go of his hand. If he just leaned in a little, he could sweep all that stardust from her skin and leave his mark. He could kiss her and taste her and make them one. If he just leaned in a little.

_"Yeah it's hard, you must be brave-  
dont let this moment slip away,"_

"I love you in blue," he whispers, "In fact, I've always loved you in blue." He steps closer and he notices that they are gently descending, the air turning them in slow circles as they drift softly down. His cloak whispers around them and, feeling a bit maudlin, he wrap the velvet around the both of them. "Do you remember," he starts, his lips brushing her ear, "the last time you wore blue? This song was playing, Hermione." They both close their eyes and let the memories play as the music crescendos, as McCormack's voice rises, as the feelings inside intensify.

_"So believe that magic works,"_

A girl in periwinkle blue and cascading curls-

_"Dont be afraid, afraid of being hurt,"_

A boy in lacy cuffs and anger as seething red as his hair-

_"No, dont let this magic die,"_

The boy and girl on a staircase, all teary eyes and bellowing voices-

_"The answer's there just look in her eyes,"_

Agonizing questions, thrilling new feelings, almosts could-be's what-if's and-

_"Dont believe that magic can die, no no no this magic can't die!"_

This. This moment in time as the memories stop, as the dreams they dreamt so long ago start to matter again. Hermione turns her lips so they are barely touching his. "I remember that," she whispers. "And I'll remember this."

They kiss and it is everything and nothing at once. Specks of glitter sparkle on her eyelashes as the masque slips down her nose. A gentle breeze smelling of grass and leaves lifts their hair into halos around their heads, and there is skin against skin, heat feeding heat. Ron tastes chocolate and wine on Hermione's tongue, but it is the fine, gritty taste of ink that makes her mouth so familiar. This is where they belong, breathing each other's breath. Of course, he has known it for the better part of four years. Hermione has known even longer. There is magic in the way their bodies fit together, a magic that is both new and older than time.

_"So dance..."_

Ron parts his lips and watches Hermione through ginger lashes. She is mystery and light, every dreamless sleep he has ever had. He could hold her eternities starting right now. They have spent ten-thousand forevers getting to this point, but it does not matter because they will be together for ten-thousand more. Under the cover of autumn and under the pretense of magic, they have finally let themselves fall in love.

_"Your final dance..."_

"I wore blue for you," Hermione says to him before spinning into the shadows again, a starbeam in an endless sky. "Then and now."

A girl walks into a crowded ballroom and a boy wakes up-

A woman walks onto a crowded dancefloor and a man remembers-

It all comes full circle in the end.

"_...'cause this is your final chance"_

- - -finis


End file.
